Flash
by UberPest
Summary: Flash Fiction--each part is less than 1000 words. B&B and episode spoilers. Not all parts are fluffy; each part is a stand alone. Spoilers are noted at the start of each part. Enjoy!
1. Lucky Man

**A/N: **I loved this scene from "Fire in the Ice". Check out the look on Wendell's face. He's next to Booth's bare chest, so it's easy to miss.

Bones is owned by HH/Fox/etc.

* * *

So I'm sitting here, my mouth hanging open, one hand holding a bag of ice to my head and I start to grin like an idiot. Booth looks at me—_glares _at me—and I cover my mouth with my free hand to cover up my laugh.

He glances over his shoulder and the guys all get real quiet real quick.

He was so embarrassed by Dr. Brennan coming in here. And a little pissed that she got cat calls from the other guys. And stared at by me.

Booth tosses his shin guard with his good hand. One of the guys tells him that his girlfriend is hot, but he acts like he didn't hear it.

"You're lucky," I say.

"What?" He locks on to me with that Big Brother stare and I realize I goofed.

I try to cover my slip up.

"Um. Your hand." I point at his hand under the bag of ice. "You're lucky it's just your hand."


	2. Browncoat Drouble

**A/N:** Minor spoiler for "Fire in the Ice".

* * *

Booth changes DVDs while I get more beer from the kitchen. When we stayed up skating he decided it was his mission to get me to watch his favorite movies so I would understand his jokes.

"What's this one about?" I set down two fresh bottles and sit next to him.

"It's Sci-Fi," he says.

I try not to, but I wrinkle my nose. So often so-called science fiction is light on the science and heavy on the fiction.

"You'll like this one. I promise."

He clicks through the menu—it's not a movie, but a television series—and the first episode starts up. It's a futuristic battle on what is supposed to be another planet.

I start to nitpick the scene, but Booth hushes me.

"Sci-Fi has a suspension of disbelief."

I never realized Booth likes stories with space ships, but as I watch the show I realize what makes this one appeal to him. The characters may be criminals, but they are, as Booth would say, "stand up crooks." They want to do what's right. They look out for each other. They take care of each other.

And they're cowboys.

Booth _loves_ being a cowboy.


	3. To the Last Beat of His Heart

**A/N:** Takes place some time after "The Finger in the Nest" but it's not spoilery.

* * *

All the way to the scene Booth made jokes and light conversation. It's his way of letting me know the scene isn't good without coming right out and saying it. I'm sure Sweets would have something to say about this coping mechanism.

It's been cold lately—subzero temperatures for several nights—but without the snow I grew up with in the Midwest. There's maybe two inches on the ground, but from Booth's description that was enough to conceal a body in the woods.

We pull up to the scene—a US Forest Service vehicle is parked across the trail and several other vehicles are parked nearby. Red and blue lights strobe against the trees in the darkness. Booth greets one of the local law enforcement personnel by name; the man knows us, but I can't remember working with him before.

Booth pulls several index cards and a pen from his coat pocket to make a few notes. I haven't seen the body yet and he keeps trying to walk ahead of me. The body is several hundred feet off to the side of the hiking trail and down a short ravine.

"You know, Bones," he says as he steps carefully downhill beside me. "If you don't want to do this one, you don't have to. I can have Cam come up and take care of it."

I'm perplexed by his concern. "I can take care of this, Booth. Why would it bother me?" He doesn't answer my question. It was rhetorical anyway.

I finally get close to the body. The area is marked off by yellow crime scene tape and small battery operated lanterns provide dim light. Something is not normal here. Even for our cases it's not normal.

I stop walking when I see tufts of fur sticking out of the snow "Booth, I don't do animals."

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "I know. That's why you're here."

I pull out my flashlight and kneel next to the body. I brush away a layer of snow from the victim.

A Caucasian female, mid-to-late 20s. She's lying prone in the snow, the back of her head is bloody and exposed. I see immediately she's been struck by a blunt object. What I can't see are the extent of her wounds, not because they're obscured by the snow, but because of what's lying next to her.

On one side of her torso is a medium-sized mottled brown dog, barely more than a puppy. I brush the snow off his frozen body and find a deep wound near his neck. He'd been stabbed, but he found the energy to curl up alongside his master. His muzzle is tucked under her right arm, and the snow and earth beneath them is stained red.

On her left side there is a larger dog with similar coloring to the first. He, too, is frozen, but something is different about him. His body is pressed close to her torso and his head is resting on her shoulder. He doesn't appear to be wounded, but his muzzle is soaked with blood. I lift an upper lip and find one of his canines is broken off completely. I don't think he died from any injuries.

"Booth?" I look at him. "I think—" I look back at the dogs. "I think they were trying to keep her warm."

I stroke their heads; tell them they're good dogs. I feel Booth's eyes on me as I do so. I know he wants to say something to reassure me, but he remains silent.

I stand up and peel off my examination gloves, giving my requests for evidence to Booth and he nods. He goes to relay information to the crime scene team and I head back to his SUV. Once inside I find myself staring off into space.

I've known people to abandon their loved ones. Kill for unfathomable reasons. I once determined a man murdered his roommate over a fifty dollar bar tab. I've seen people dispose of other human beings as if they were nothing more than garbage.

But those two dogs were faithful to their master, even into their deaths.

I owe it to all three of them to find out what happened.

* * *

_I'm not entirely sure I like how that one turned out. I have a hard time with Brennan's internal voice, so that might be some of it. Let me know what you think._


	4. Island

**A/N: Spoiler:** _Written before "Hero in the Hold" aired._

_Title for the chapter is from the Trent Willmon song of the same title. It reminds me of B&B._

* * *

I haven't been sleeping lately. I wish I could say I was drinking a pot of coffee at 11:30 at night. I do. But that's a lie. I can't sleep because I wake up out of breath, gasping for air.

Two nights ago it was the worst it's been in weeks. I woke up soaked in sweat and wrapped up so tight in my blankets that I couldn't move my legs. I could barely work one arm free to tear the covers off.

My feet hit the floor and I started stumbling through my apartment in pitch blackness. My hands were shaking and my mouth and throat were dry. I don't remember going into the bathroom until I hit the switch and nearly blinded myself with those damned bright energy-efficient bulbs she insisted I install.

I gulped down water and staggered back to collapse in my bed and stare at the ceiling until morning.

She came over the next morning. I didn't call; somehow she knew. She didn't ask about it and I couldn't talk about it. Didn't know what I should say. It's not like she hadn't been through it, too.

Last night, though, it was okay. We sat on the couch just talking. No movies, no music, no work. Just us. We talked about what it was like; not knowing if you were going to make it or if anyone would ever find you. I'd been through combat. Been tortured. We'd both been kidnapped before. This was different.

I don't think she'd talked about what she went through with Hodgins, not since we went to Church that day, anyway. We lost track of time and before I realized it, it was too late for her to drive home and, honestly, I didn't want her to leave.

So I asked her to stay. She started toward Parker's room and I stopped her.

"Please?" I asked. "I need to know you're here with me."

Then, instead of arguing, she did something I didn't expect. She hugged me. She spoke into my ear and I could tell she was smiling.

"We're even."

We changed for bed—I'm still surprised she wore some of my clothes without any complaint—and she leaned into me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the top of her head. I thanked her for staying with me, but I think she was already asleep.

Out there in the real world things are still scary, but in here we're okay.

And that's enough.


	5. Bringing Them Up & Letting Them Down

**Spoilers** for "The Woman in Limbo" and "Con Man in the Meth Lab"

A little fill-in-the-blank for a moment in "The Woman in Limbo" that's been niggling at the back of my mind.

Head's up for language. It's a phrase my brother says and I used it here.

* * *

"So they didn't go out at night, after you were asleep and rob banks?" She says.

No. No, they didn't. After Dad moved us to Philly we barely saw Mom. She couldn't deal with the old man so she left. And Dad—

Yeah, there's a nasty piece of work. Beat the dog shit out of us. Mostly just me. Jared was the golden boy and that's probably my fault as much as anybody's. Thank God we got out of there before we wound up dead or on drugs or—

Before we wound up like him.

I feel the corner of my mouth twitch and I realize I'm trying to hold a smile. I hope she doesn't see that it's fake. She's going through too much and right now she needs a friend.

I blink after—what, a couple of seconds? A couple of minutes? I flick my fortune into an empty fried rice carton. I didn't show it to her, but it seemed appropriate for how things have been going lately.

_A firm friendship will prove the foundation on your success in life._

I lean forward. "Listen, Bones."

I look at her and try to offer some kind of advice.

"You know, parents, they have secret lives. If they didn't they wouldn't be parents."


	6. Experiential Learning

Small spoilers for "The Girl in the Fridge" and possibly "The Bone that Blew"

* * *

Despite all the changes a university goes through over time, some things never change. The dull roar of students socializing, the smell of barely-legal-to-be-labeled-food from vendors, and a small number around the outside of the student union actually studying.

Among them was Temperance Brennan, still reading, still observing the crowd as she had more than twenty years before. Reflecting back, she thought of the things she got out of her years in school. A great deal of knowledge, a worthless relationship with a man who didn't love her, and few lasting relationships. Now she was back, guest lecturing for an entire semester.

She tapped at the electronic tablet in front of her, updating her notes for the evening's class. She was nervous about teaching this class. It wasn't the subject matter, or that she didn't have experience. She'd been through this too many times for those to even register on her radar. This time her audience was a little different.

She tapped at the corner of the tablet to power it off. She heard the familiar footsteps getting close to her through the fading rush of the dinner crowd. She knew he'd be bringing her a cup of her favorite coffee. Just like he knew where to find her in the crowded student union.

"How's my favorite forensic scientist?" he dropped his head for a quick peck on her lips before he pushed out the chair next to her, the one that allowed him to sit with his back to the wall and watch the open room.

Brennan picked up the steaming cup and blew across the top to cool it.

"It won't be too long and you're going to have to pick who your _actual_ favorite is."

Booth grinned.

"Parker promised he'd be quiet in your class and wouldn't cause any problems."

"Well, I hope he says _something_, otherwise how will I grade him on class participation?"

Booth shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe have him tutor some of the other students? I know he's got plenty of room in his dorm. That thing is _huge._"

They continued chatting about how Parker was adjusting to campus life, her class, the University's home football game for the upcoming weekend, and his agenda for the week at the FBI. Booth checked his watch and stood to help her with her coat. She stopped griping at his alpha male tendencies years ago. Instead, she smiled at the warmth and familiarity of their interactions. This was better than how she spent her years in the Ivory Tower.

When she was a student she wasn't interested in a life beyond the walls of academia, but after time on the outside it seemed her real learning was done once she got out of the classroom.


	7. Hypocritical Mass

"Sweetie, what are you _doing_?" Angela asked as she dropped into the chair facing Brennan's desk. Brennan was tapping at the keyboard, changing a few words here and there on her screen.

"I'm putting the final touches on a lecture I have prepared for—"

Angela cut her off.

"That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about what you're doing with Booth."

Brennan studied Angela with a furrowed brow. "I'm not doing anything with Booth. He's at his office right now."

"I'm talking about what you're doing with Booth. That man has been walking around with his heart on his sleeve for _ages_ waiting for you. He's just waiting for you to figure out what in the hell you are going to do about it."

A look of complete confusion passed over Brennan's face and Angela resigned herself to explaining things to her friend.

"He is in love with you. Everyone sees it. Hell, you see it, but you're denying it."

"Ange, we've talked about this before, and I really don't want to talk about it now."

"No. You are _not_ getting out of this. You are going to face it and make some sort of decision."

"You know that love is an overrated emotion—it's our bodies responding to physical or social qualities we admire in a mate."

"Sweetie, you are quickly approaching hypocritical mass."

"I don't know what that means."

"That's when you are such a hypocrite you ignore the world around you until things blow up."

Brennan pursed her lips as Angela continued.

"Look, Bren, you go out, have a good time, even go home with some guy and you always say it's some anthropological reason—humans are social—or it's okay because there's no emotion involved, it's only what biology has programmed us to do. But you know what? All the brain chemistry and electrons you say make up love—that's there, too."

"That's not exactly what I said—"

Angela hushed her with a wave of her hand. "Shh. I'm getting to something." Angela leaned in to make her point.

"It's hypocritical of you to blame all of your actions on biology and anthropology, and then throw that logic completely out the window when it comes to your emotions. And if you ignore it any longer things with you and Booth, they're going to blow up and take us all down with you."

Angela stood up and started walking toward the door, not waiting for Brennan to answer.

"Angela, what are you saying I should do?"

She called back over her shoulder.

"Thank me later."

Brennan leaned back into her chair and swiveled from side to side as she thought. After several minutes she picked up the phone. After several rings he picked up.

"Booth? No, I'm fine, I was—" she took a deep breath. "I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to go get some drinks?"

* * *

_Okay, that may or may not be the accepted definition for _hypocritical mass_ but it's close enough to work for me._


	8. Sisu

Spoilers: The Critic in the Cabernet.

* * *

The short stubble raked her fingertips as she inspected the healed tissue on his scalp where the row of sutures had been just that morning.

"How's it look?" he asked as she took a seat next to him.

She pursed her lips in an expression he'd learned was satisfaction. "A few weeks and you won't know anything ever happened."

He offered a weak smile and she took his hand. If she were better at reading body language and facial expressions, she might have been able to see him fighting depression.

She met his eyes. She knew she wasn't good at offering comfort to others, but she also knew she had to try. Her eyes flicked downward to stare at their entwined hands before she spoke.

"There's a Finnish word that doesn't translate well into English. Sisu. It can be roughly translated as strength of will, determination, perseverance, and acting rationally in the face of adversity. It derives from a word that's similar to 'guts' but there's more to it than that. It's not just facing down the odds once, but to be courageous over a long period. It's the will and decisiveness to surmount challenges against impossible odds. I've heard it proposed that it's a quality that belongs to the Finnish people because of the adverse conditions they've endured over time. Because it doesn't translate well, I've been told it's something you have to experience to fully understand." She met his eyes again. "I think you have sisu, Booth. No matter what you've had to endure, you've faced it down and grown stronger because of it. That's something I admire about you."


	9. Undergrad Drabble

Spoilers: none.

A brief look at college-aged Brennan

* * *

The rice made a wet plopping sound when she scooped it into the bowl. Third night in a row for brown rice.

She added several packets of fast-food hot sauce to the rice and stirred.

She knew there'd be a day when she didn't have to worry about scholarships, GPAs, and keeping her food stored so the mice wouldn't chew through the cartons, but for now they were part of Temperance's reality. The rented room was home for the summer, although she spent most nights at the lab.

That was the beauty of having no family to go home to.


	10. My Little Girl

Spoilers: None, really, but possibly a very _mild_ one for "The Woman in the Sand".

* * *

She reminds me so much of her mother.

She stands the same way when she's mad. Her chin sticks out with her lips pursed when she's arguing. She has the same grin and gleeful squeal when she's happy.

Luckily she has my taste in movies, so we have a marathon of classics—just the two of us—when her mother works late. She fell asleep on the couch halfway through _Raiders of the Lost Ark_, but that's okay. I won't hold it against her.

I click off the TV, pull a blanket up over her shoulders, and kiss her cheek.

"G'night, babe."

Her eyes flutter and, for the briefest of moments, I see my own brown eyes instead of her mother's blue. She squirms and pulls the blanket over her head.

"_Dad_," she whines. "I'm too _old_ to get tucked in."

I grin and switch off the light to leave her in the dark to mutter about not being a little kid any more. It won't be long and she will be too old for me to tuck in. But in the mean time, I enjoy the little moments.


	11. Photographs and Memories

Minor spoiler for "Fire in the Ice". Title from Jim Croce's song of the same name. Character death.

* * *

"Check out these," Parker slid the stack of photographs across the table. He'd found them in his father's office. A thin hand lifted them from the table.

A sad but genuine smile crossed her face.

"Look how young we were," she whispered. She didn't look at Parker as she spoke.

She pointed out Booth and Wendell in a team photo from that hockey team they played on so many years ago.

The team from the Jeffersonian smiling at the camera during a Christmas party.

Dr. Sweets and Daisy posing as Frankenstein's monster and The Bride of Frankenstein.

Angela sticking her tongue out at whomever was holding the camera. Probably Jack.

A tear came to her eye as she picked up the yellowed clipping from some long-defunct newspaper on the top of the stack. The faded black and white picture was of Booth and herself. He was seated next to her at a book signing, with one arm around her shoulders and his head bowed to read whatever it was she was pointing at in the magazine in front of her.

"That was the day he got the promotion to Assistant Director. He didn't want to tell me yet. He felt the book signing was my night and he didn't want to steal the spotlight." A tear rolled down her cheek. "That's how he always was."

Parker moved to wrap his arms around her. Comfort her.

"I miss him, Parker."


	12. Pale Blue Dot

A/N: I actually had this little exchange all set before I saw the previews for _The X in the File. _It popped into my head due to some of the science podcasts I listen to and a recent discussion I participated in regarding the ethics of human cloning.

* * *

"Yes, the odds are good that there is life on some other planet in the universe, but it may not have ever evolved past the stage of single-celled organisms, or it may never have reached sapience, or been wiped out by an extinction event," Brennan turned to look at Booth.

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be cool if there were little green men out there, keeping an eye on what we're doing?" Booth smiled back at her from the driver's seat.

Brennan frowned. "Given the vast distances in interstellar space the likelihood of an alien race visiting Earth is highly unlikely."

"What about us going out there?"

"Hypothetically? If there _were_ a planet capable of supporting life as we know it, and if we had the technology to get us there, the laws of physics are still in effect. It would take years, and likely lifetimes to reach such a planet, barring failure of the transport vehicle, electromagnetic radiation destroying our DNA, or other catastrophe. Then, once we were to get there, we'd have to start _completely_ from scratch to build a new eco-system. We'd need to have genetically viable populations—which, if sufficiently outbred to begin with could be feasible—including embryos in stasis, seeds, spores, genetic material for future cloning—"

Booth held up his hand to interrupt her stream of thought.

"Okay, so you have a problem with aliens, but clones and space ships you can handle?"

"Well, those are well within the realm of possibility. We have the all of those things now, however alien species—"

"Nevermind. You know what? Remind me never to watch _Star Wars _with you."

* * *

I hope you all had a great series of winter holidays! Thanks for reading!


	13. Moving On Drabble

**Moving On**

**--**

**Spoilers: The Parts in the Sum of the Whole**

**--  
**

She said it brought out the color of his eyes. Silk. Soft green with brown flecks.

He moved through the motions of tying the half-Windsor. Under, over, around, up, down. He tightened the knot and paused, taking in his reflection.

It was never a conscious choice to dress for her. He'd now done it so long that he couldn't help but to think of her when choosing his clothes.

She was moving on. Wasn't it his turn?

Why should he care what she thought of his ties?

He sighed, loosened his tie, and rifled through the drawer for something different.


End file.
